Tuesday, September 13, 2011

The "Little Things"

One of my favorite blogs I read daily is "The Littlest Things" by Sophie. Beautiful pictures, beautiful clothes, lovely life. It's fun to read so many blogs and simply see how much beauty there is in the world, right down to the teeny tiny leaves and flowers on the ground. However, even though sometimes the "littlest things" put a smile on my face, there are other "littlest things" which always bring me within 10 seconds of going bat shit crazy. And they are:
1. A swollen door you can't easily open but have to throw yourself into 12 times before finally breaking through and most likely falling on the floor with your bag of groceries, purse, blackberry, keys and coat/shoes you're holding in your hand.
2. Squeezing out of your car door because the asshole next to you took up 1/8th of your parking spot. Add fuel to the fire if there is still a passenger in this car to watch you as you shimmy out trying desperately to avoid the boob brush against the window. You end up looking like
3. $10 minimum charges. Walk in for a chapstick, leave with silly bandz, STAR magazine, Sour Patch Kids and beef jerky.
4. Baking a cake only to find out you forgot eggs. After you went to the super market. Whelp, those 35 minutes you spent scouring Safeway for the cheapest baking products and what’s on sale really worked out well for you considering now you have to buy a $40 Baskin Robbins cake.
5. Vacuum sealed jars. I realize pickles and spaghetti sauce and horseradish need to be kept fresh, but the efforts made just to get a goddamn claussen spear should by no means resemble that of a crack heads for that last hit of dill (cue frantic scene of running jar under boiling water, smashing against counter top, sweat and tears over the grip of a lunatic's callused hands). And those pickles in a bag? No.
6. Seeing someone pulled over in the middle of traffic. Literally, the reason I've been late to work three times now. Nope, no accident, just traffic because some moron cop pulled someone over in the MIDDLE LANE. I think in these instances people should be able to issue tickets to police. How is that not dangerous? I am always tempted to drive straight into them and throw myself out of the car screaming, "I can't feel my legs!” However, this would probably end in thousands of dollars of fines I would have to pay, the possible death of innocent commuters, and likely the amputation of my legs.
7. Underground pimples. Yep, I said it. Gross, but you know what I'm talking about. You actually feel like at any moment Schmiegel might burst out of your skin, or you could very well be growing a third eye on the back of your head. These little buggers taunt you until they're ready for a good squeeze. Only... they're not. Five minutes, a huge blister and many tears later, you pop an ibuprofen and hope people won't notice the giant alien growing on your forehead.
8. Low battery. Could be your ipod thirty seconds into your 30 minutes on the treadmill. Could be your blackberry, as soon as you discover you're lost in the middle of Chinatown with $3 in your pocket and the inability to speak Chinese (how you say... get me the F out of here?!). Heck it could even be your camera just before your kid's first dance recital. The worst part of this is not that you're going to have to sweat it out to 90s pop and Lionel Ritchie's greatest hits, and its not that you'll be stuck in Chinatown for the next two hours trying to understand how you've already driven by 5 Ming's Restaurants (hey at least you can get a decent egg roll somewhere during this insanity trip), and its not even that your daughter will never have documentation of her first stage performance for E! Hollywood News when she's America's favorite girl next door on the new hit Fox series. No, it is just a reminder of how much of a lazy shit you really are for not taking the time to charge it. It was more important to you to spend those five extra minutes you had trying to open that damn Claussen jar.
9. Missing the breakfast menu. You're telling me I can't order a hashbrown because it's 11:00? We both know they're stocked in your freezer, you just need to dump one in the basket of fries, charge me the price of a McChicken, and wrap it in a goddamn McChicken wrapper if you need to. When will McDonalds realize they are losing thousands of dollars (from me alone) every year that they do not offer their breakfast menu 24 hours? Maybe they're doing me a favor.
10. No means NO. And no, I am not quoting a domestic dispute between Ben Roethlisberger and his new wife; I'm talking about those small but imperative requests to meals. No mayo, no ham, no onions, no mushrooms. For the love of God, when I said no mayo it wasn't because I'm really just not in the mood for white globs of glue on my ham sandwich today. It's because I never want melted globs of glue on my ham sandwich. The cruel deceit of a seemingly perfect ham and swiss melted sandwich between two toasted slices of rye is almost too much to bear once you discover within the first bite that the $8.50 you spent was for $5 worth of white goo hiding under romaine leaves. Ugh, that sandwich was almost perfect. Sort of like the cast of Law and Order SVU. Scrape off Ice T and you don't have to throw away the whole thing.

And for a 180, here is what makes me happy, little and big:
1. Candy corn
2. Wine and sushi and good friends. My plans tonight involve all three, including a late night showing of Notorious.
3. My Tory Burch leopard patent flats. Still.
4. That I Got to see this on Sunday:

and this

5. Curling up in my boyfriends bed and catching up on rotten tv while my boyfriend stays downstairs playing Madden. That's love. Now if only his bed looked remotely like this...

Oh yes, and by the way, as I predicted I've abandoned you all for some time. But I'm back for now... no promises :)

1 comment: